


Precipitate

by Arsenic



Series: Wendesday-verse [5]
Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Felching, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-26
Updated: 2008-03-26
Packaged: 2020-05-07 06:35:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19203886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arsenic/pseuds/Arsenic
Summary: This is Untappedbeauty's birthday fic.All right, so this takes place about six or so years after the end of WNB. Some basic filler that's probably necessary: after a chain of events, not the least of which is 18 months of HIV-free STI test results, Brendon, Ryan and Jon forego condoms about two and a half years after the end of WNB. There are some other STI issues between the three of them, but let's assume that's TMI and that I'm not sure why my brain knows all that information anyway.Serious thanks to seanarenay, sauciloo and whoyouinvent for helping me whip this puppy into shape.





	Precipitate

 

Ryan was still at work when Jon called him and said, "Hey, you been watching the news?"

There actually was a TV in the breakroom of the vet office, but Ryan was in his second year of vet school full time and he worked thirty-two hours a week. He didn't watch TV on his break. He studied, or, in a pinch, slept. "No. Should I be?"

"Don't freak out on me, okay, but there's a blizzard in Philly."

Ryan did his best to follow instructions. Brendon was out in Philly for their Gay and Lesbian Film Festival; he went every year. "Um. Have you heard from him?"

"Not yet, and his phone's not picking up. I think they might not have service."

Ryan's breathing shallowed a little and he fought to keep it even. Brendon was fine, he was fine. It was a blizzard, they happened. Jon said, "Ry. Hey. He'll be okay. He just has to stay inside. That's what he has a hotel for. He's probably hanging out with all the other film geeks, having himself an awesome time."

Probably better than he would have here, with them, Ryan thought with a flash of panic. Then he made himself stop. Brendon loved them. He loved Jon. And Ryan. He did. "He can't get back."

"Probably not tomorrow like planned, no. But Pennsylvania will figure out how to deal with the snow sooner or later, and then he'll come back to us."

"Okay," Ryan said.

"I promise, Ryan Ross," Jon said, in that tone he had when he knew Ryan wasn't talking for fear of all the stupid things he'd say if he did.

Ryan would have liked to reward him for being totally smart in the ways of Ryan, but Brendon was all the way across the country and Ryan was bad at being human all on his own. "Okay."

 

*

When Ryan walked out to turn the lights off and close up, Jon was sitting in the waiting room, reading about the habits of chow puppies. He smiled at Ryan. "Hey, beautiful."

It probably wasn't Jon's intention to scare the ever-loving shit out of Ryan, but his heart stopped beating. "Is something wrong? Is Bren--"

"Whoa, hey, hey." Jon threw the magazine aside and got up to walk to Ryan. Ryan took a step back and Jon stopped. "Okay."

"Sorry," Ryan said, and he really was, but the thought of anyone's hands on him made his head rush angrily. "Jon. Why are you here?"

"I just thought I'd give you a ride, R."

Ryan calmed a little at the nickname. Jon only used it when he was really worried about or really wrapped up in Ryan and as such, it was almost a failsafe way to get him to pay attention. "Brendon's okay?"

"No new news since the last time we spoke."

That wasn't _good_ , but it wasn't bad, either, so Ryan would take it. "Okay."

"C'mon," Jon said softly, "I'll treat you to dinner."

"Not hungry," Ryan said. He never was when he was worried.

"I know, but I'll take you somewhere that does breakfast all day long. That place by where I used to live, maybe. You like that one."

Ryan did, and Jon knew all his worst weaknesses. "Maybe," he said.

"Good enough for me," Jon told him, and didn't touch him as they walked to the car.

 

*

Jon coaxed him into eating a yogurt parfait and some fruit and then left off. Admittedly, the fact that Ryan's phone rang in the middle of sitting down with the menu helped. Ryan picked it up without even looking and said, "Brendon?"

"Hey, Ry."

There were a million questions crowding at Ryan's throat: are you okay, when are they saying you'll be able to get back, what does a blizzard look like, are you warm? That last one most of all. Brendon hated being cold, it reminded him of standing on street corners all night long. What he said was, "So. You're stuck?"

"Yeah. Sorry it took me so long to call. The towers are down and there was a rush on phone cards at the gift shop and there was no way in hell I was going out in this."

"But--"

"I'm fine. The hotel is heated, and it's actually quite pretty from inside, and they're screening films again for people who missed them the first time, so I'm peachy. How are you?"

"Fine," Ryan said.

"Yeah, okay. Can I talk to Jaje?"

Ryan handed the phone over. Jon said, "You planned this, didn't you?" Ryan could hear Brendon laugh. Jon was good at making Brendon laugh. Ryan was better at it when he was being mean. Ryan wasn't really sure what that said about him. Brendon was talking and Jon was saying, "Yeah, no, I got it. It's fine, we're gonna have some breakfast. Yeah. Yeah, I will, you too. Okay, see ya then."

He gave the phone back to Ryan, who put it to his ear. "Hello?"

"Take care of J for me, right?"

Ryan nodded and didn't mention that he was a _vet_. He took care of animals. "When are you coming back?"

"Soon as I can, promise."

Brendon kept his promises to Ryan. Ryan said, "Okay."

 

*

When they got home, Ryan settled at the kitchen table, which was his normal study spot, and tried to get some homework done, but he was having trouble concentrating. Jon was playing guitar in the other room, strumming something Ryan thought might be classical. It was soft and more intricate than a lot of what Jon usually played. Ryan grabbed one of his smaller books and went to join Jon on the couch. He put his head on Jon's knee, right next to the guitar and just listened for a bit. Jon played the song through until it was finished and then gently carded his hand through Ryan's hair.

He said, "He would never leave you, Ry. Not if he could help it."

"I know," Ryan lied.

Jon rubbed at Ryan's scalp a little, and went back to playing. Ryan tried to read, again.

 

*

Ryan couldn't sleep. He was tired, and he'd made himself chamomile tea and had even taken a bath at Jon's suggestion. His mind wouldn't quiet. Part of it, he knew, was simply that he'd never been in a blizzard. He'd been in earthquakes, bad ones, the one where Jon's leg had been broken and Spencer'd had to walk from the apartment to Frank and Gerard's house to get to them. But as bad as they'd gotten, they were a known quantity. Blizzards were something else altogether, as mythical as tornadoes or hurricanes.

Jon, on the other hand, was intimately acquainted with them and had tried to reassure Ryan that it really was nothing to worry about. It wasn't that Ryan thought he was lying, he just didn't like it when he couldn't see things. Things that he couldn't see tended not to appear again and both Brendon and Jon went on business trips with a fair amount of regularity and Ryan still really hadn't gotten used to the idea that unlike his mother, they would come back. They _wanted_ to come back.

At around two, Jon slid his hands up under Ryan's nightshirt and rested them against his back. He said, "This okay?"

"Sorry," Ryan said, meaning about the whole shying away thing he had done earlier that evening. He realized a second later that Jon was probably going to need some kind of help decoding the sentiment. He sighed.

Jon just said, "It's okay." He rubbed a little. "If I go get some lotion, will you let me try and get you to relax?"

Ryan closed his eyes. Sometimes Jon was a mystery to him; most of the time, really. Ryan was Jon's to do with as he wished--Brendon had given him to Jon. Granted, Brendon had given Jon to Ryan first, so things did get a little confusing, but even when Brendon had done that, it had still been a form of giving Ryan to Jon. At least, that was the way it had worked for Ryan. Jon was awesome about not taking advantage of that ownership, and Ryan loved him more than anything else in the world for it. Well, anything else except Brendon and Spencer, and maybe Frank. They tied. But Ryan had a lot of love for him. And he was Jon's, Jon's boy. Jon even said so every once in a while. Ryan said, "Okay."

Jon disappeared for a minute and Ryan did his best to cooperate, to be easy. He took off his shirt and even his boxer pants. He curled up in the blankets then, but that was because he was cold. The apartment cooled at night, but Ryan usually had Jon and Brendon there, keeping him warm. Jon came back and touched at Ryan's neck and sure enough, his fingers were warm. Ryan curled up into them, just the tiniest bit. Jon leaned down and kissed his temple. The he pulled the covers down far enough to work carefully at the muscles of Ryan's back. Jon's hands were compact and strong and they had spent a long time trying their best to learn Ryan. Ryan was hard to figure out, even Ryan knew this--he had been doing the figuring his whole life--but Jon was patient and heartily opposed to giving up, ever.

Ryan let the hands unwind him. Jon dug in to his shoulder blades and the meat of his shoulders, his lower back, with enough force that there would bruises, large and black, writ over the landscape of those muscles in the morning, but Ryan had long ago gotten to the point where his body could determine the intent of pain and parse it properly given that intent. He breathed through the worst of it and made appreciative sounds when Jon managed to release the most stubborn knots.

When Ryan's back was throbbing with heat and perfectly lax, Jon cuddled up behind him and said, "Think you can sleep now?"

Ryan was close. He could actually feel the sort of disturbance of time and space that came with a lack of consciousness, but first there was something he needed to know. "Jon?"

"Yeah?"

"If Brendon didn't come back--"

"Ryan--"

"No, I mean, hypothetically."

Jon sighed, but said, "Okay, _very_ hypothetically."

"Would you, um. I mean, I wouldn't want you to feel like you had--" Ryan sighed. "Nevermind."

But Jon had already gone stiff and still behind Ryan. Ryan knew Jon wouldn't hit him--Jon had never hurt him physically, not ever, not even before Ryan had actually been a boy in his eyes and not just a commodity. But there were much, much worse things that could be done to a person, and Ryan was only good at taking the tangible sorts of pain. Jon said, "Ryan." He sounded calm in that way that meant he was absolutely not calm. "Are you asking me if I would leave you if I didn't have Brendon to tie me to you?"

A million answers crowded into Ryan's head at once, so much so that they hurt, clamoring at him. He managed to fish one out. "He told you to take care of me. On the phone." Ryan hadn't been able to hear, he just knew Brendon's M.O. "But you already were, because you knew he'd expect it. It's like that."

"I already _was_ because if I didn't, you wouldn't do it yourself, and then you'd waste away and I wouldn't have you. And it's not like Brendon didn't tell you the same thing."

Okay, point, but, "But I wasn't doing it."

Jon took a breath like he was about to say something and then stopped. He paused for a moment and started again. "Let's try a different tack. If Brendon didn't come back to us one time, for whatever reason, would you leave _me_?"

The claim _mine_ burned through Ryan's chest, hot and cutting, but Ryan knew that just because something was his to claim didn't mean he could keep it. He said, "If you told me to. I would."

"Only then?"

And Ryan couldn't help it, couldn't help hissing, "Mine." He buried his face in the pillow after that. Jesus, he was such a five year-old at times.

Jon unearthed him, rolling him over. He looked down at Ryan for a long time before asking, "Can I do something?"

Ryan blinked up at him. Jon said, "I was gonna try it out with Brendon, because he's a little more adventurous than you are, but I forget that sometimes you need to be tested. Sometimes you have to show me what you can do, even if I fucking well know exactly what you can do."

Ryan stretched up and pressed his lips to Jon's in a chaste gesture of permission. Jon wasn't wrong. Jon was almost never wrong by the time he decided to say something about Ryan. Ryan wasn't sure where Jon got his information from, since he sure as hell didn't ask. It was pretty surprising that Jon was asking for this much. Which was why it wasn't a shock that Jon said, "No, Ryan, you have to say yes if you want to do this."

"Yes," Ryan said. Then, after some thought, "Yes, please."

Jon caressed at the side of Ryan's face. "I have to fuck you for this to work."

Ryan thought about it. That wasn't really something they did. Ryan had never really developed a taste for bottoming, not even to Brendon or Jon. But what was the point of a test if it was constructed of parts you knew you could pass? Ryan repeated, "Yes. Please."

Jon smiled a little and sat up, leaning against the headboard. He grabbed the lube from the headboard, the scentless, tasteless one he'd bought that Ryan had wondered but not asked about; Ryan knew his own limits--preferential or otherwise. Jon pulled Ryan onto his lap. Ryan felt gangly and scarred and open, but Jon just said, " _My_ beautiful boy," and kissed him while fisting Ryan's cock gently until he could barely hold himself upright, even with the aid of Jon's arm at his back. Jon said, "C'mon, help me out here a little," and Ryan realized that Jon was trying to work Ryan into a straddling position.

Ryan said, "Oh," and let himself be maneuvered. When he was hovering over Jon's cock, Jon slicking himself up, sliding cool, solid fingers slowly and carefully into Ryan, it occurred to Ryan that Jon had every intention of letting him control the situation. That was odd for a test, but Ryan wasn't going to question. Being in control was better than not. Jon left his own cock alone to focus all of his attention on what he was doing to Ryan's prostate and Ryan panted a little. Jon was a determined little fuck when he chose to be. Jon said, "Ready, R?"

Ryan nodded, his eyes slightly glazed. Jon slipped his fingers from Ryan and said, "All you."

Ryan lowered himself onto Jon carefully, but not without some haste. When he managed to find the right angle, the right way to get exactly what he wanted, Ryan put his hand to Jon's chest and grunted, "Mine." He didn't have the presence of mind to be embarrassed about it, not even with the tenuousness of the claim itself. Jon's hands came up, closing over Ryan's wrists, keeping them pressed exactly where they were. When he really, really wanted to jerk himself off, Ryan said, "Jon, Jon, I--"

"No," Jon said, implacably, and Ryan remembered that this was a test. He would be good, he would be so good, Jon would see.

When Jon was barely breathing anymore from holding on, he let go of Ryan's hands with a warning look, but Ryan wasn't even thinking of disobeying. Jon took Ryan's hips in his hands and held him so that Jon was just barely inside Ryan--no more than the head of his cock--as he came. Then he pulled Ryan all the way off, even of his lap, and said, "Hands and knees, R. Show me how beautiful you are."

Ryan's back was more scar tissue than skin, but it was better than his front, definitely better, so at least there was that. And Jon had never minded the scars, not even before Ryan had been Jon's Ryan, was instead just some cock on a corner. Ryan did as told and offered himself up, knees spread, hands steady under his arms. Jon's palms were gentle over Ryan's hips, his thumbs massaging sweetly at the bony protrusions of his pelvis. Jon pressed a kiss to Ryan's tailbone and then, without much more warning as to what he was about to do, trailed his tongue right into Ryan's ass and made a exploratory circle with it directly on the inner lining, pulling from Ryan what he had so carefully left in him.

Ryan's arms quaked. Jon asked, "Too much?" his breath hitting the skin of Ryan's ass.

Ryan did a lot of stuff in his time on the streets, a lot of stuff he would have never done if not for money and the need to stay clear of Thomas' bad side. But all those things involved a condom if he could help it. He knew some of Thomas' kids were willing to do the higher risk stuff for higher money, but Ryan could handle the higher pain stuff, so he had chosen to take his risks there. This wasn't something he'd ever done or had done, wasn't something he'd ever _wanted_ to do or _thought_ to have done. For all Ryan's experience, Jon was forever teaching Ryan that his sexual imagination could be pretty limited. Ryan stuttered, "You-- you want--"

Jon threaded his tongue back inside Ryan and then _curled_ it, taking his cum into his mouth again. He drew away long enough to say, "I want to try every last fucking thing that makes you feel good, do anything that causes you pleasure, everything that will let you know just how fucking much I'm yours to do whatever the hell you want with, except leave." Jon went back to work. Ryan threw back his head and made incoherent, whimpering noises. It was all he could do not to howl. When Jon continued, working his way carefully deeper, sucking and licking and swirling and flicking, Ryan gave in, let Jon hear everything, his pleas, his shouts, his begging. But he didn't touch himself, didn't move from his hands and knees. Jon didn't ask for things just to be capricious.

When Jon had done all he could, had drained Ryan, he finished up with a slow circle of his tongue and then flipped Ryan gently onto his back and separated his thighs with a gentle hand to each one. Ryan looked up at him, desperate. Jon said, "Okay, Ry, okay," and lowered his head for one strong suck at the head of Ryan's cock. That was all it took for Ryan to arch, his hands clenching fiercely at the comforter, and come. Jon kept his mouth to Ryan until he was done, and then let go, not even so much as kissing at the head, not taking Ryan one step further than he'd already gone.

When Ryan could remember how to speak in English, he said, "Kiss me. Kiss me, Jonathan Jacob." Ryan wouldn't call him by Brendon's nickname, but that didn't mean he couldn't find his own ways to remind him of the magic of their alliterated names.

Jon said, "Lemme just--" looking toward the bathroom and Ryan grabbed him and said, "No. Kiss me like this."

Jon said, "Are you--"

Ryan looked at him and whatever Jon saw--whatever part of the thousands of words running through Ryan's head that meant something about being part of each other about being an "us"--he nodded at, and kissed Ryan until Ryan's lips were raw, until his eyes had slipped shut, until he fell right into a world of dreams where blizzards were just pretty and people wanted to keep Ryans forever and ever.

 

*

It was light when Ryan woke up, which was a bad, bad thing, but on the upside, Jon was next to him, and he always left before Jon. Maybe they had just forgotten to close the shades. Ryan opened his eyes. The clock read 11:02. Ryan said, "Oh, shit!"

Jon put a hand to his back before he could fly out of bed. "I told your workplace you had food poisoning and were puking too hard to come to the phone and I asked that Victoria girl you study with to get your assignments."

"Jon," Ryan said, very, very strictly.

"Ryan," Jon said, not so strictly, and with only one eye open.

"And what did you tell your work?"

"Family emergency," Jon said easily.

Ryan stared at him. "Oh. Um. Oh."

Jon let his eye slipped closed again and grinned. He pulled Ryan to him even as he said, "C'mere."

Ryan asked, "Brendon call?"

"He has a flight for ass o' clock in the morning tomorrow, and he misses you, and I'm supposed to give you kisses as soon as I don't have morning breath."

"Guess you didn't tell him what we got up to last night, huh?"

"I thought he'd prefer a practical demonstration."

Ryan laughed into Jon's chest. Jon stroked at his back and said, "Go back to sleep, R. I'll be here when you wake up."

 

 


End file.
